Big Middle - Friday 13th
by Shunters
Summary: Greg is superstitious and is having another bad day. Just when he thinks it can't possible get worse…it does. Big Middle Au. Grissom & Sara leave the dummy weight on Greg for too long. And this new ambulance driver is pretty terrible. T for language & medical gore
1. Luck is a Fickle Thing

**Disclaimer:** Don't own, just writing for fun. Not making any money

 **Summary:** Greg is superstitious and is having another bad day. Just when he thinks it can't possible get worse…it does. Big Middle Au. Grissom & Sara leave the dummy weight on Greg for too long. And this new ambulance driving is pretty reclus.

 **Warning:** Description of chest damage. Might be some bad language. Poor, poor Greggo.

 **To those of you reading** 'Home Again' **& ** 'Connor's Secrets' **I have not given up, but my brother smashed my laptop screen when he 'borrowed' it. I was in the middle of a few chaps for both, so now I have lost all my progress on it. I'm a bit pissed at him. My laptop is being fixed & I should have it by the end of the week, until then I'm using my desktop. I'm working on a chap for **'CS' **because I know where I am, but for** 'HA' **you will have to wait a bit. Very sorry.**

 **A/N: so this will be a two-shot I think. Enjoy our poor hurt Greg**

 **Big Middle – Friday 13** **th**

 **Chapter 1 – Luck is a Fickle thing**

It was Friday 13th October. This was the most unlucky day ever for a psychic and even worse for a Hojem. So, Greg was having a bad (night) day. A very, very bad (night) day. First his alarm didn't go off, so he couldn't have breakfast before work, then his coffee machine broke so he didn't have his morning caffeine. Next his car ran out of gas on the way to work, so, he had to get it towed and grab a cab to the lab. After this he finally got a case and he was called to a hotel room, he naturally thought it was a hooker case, but no just some dead guy. And then there were all the little things, like, tripping up, missing evidence and having Grissom patronisingly point it out, dropping things. His day couldn't possible get worse.

 **[breakline]**

 **Later that day**

It was an interesting case. It wasn't a dead hooker, but...it was interesting. The running theory was that the vic, Mr. Hutson, was in bed with a woman from the...large people conversation and the woman fell asleep on top of him, suffocating him. She was of course trashed when this happened, but still, sleeping with (then on) a dead guy...that's just wrong.

Grissom wanted Greg to lay on a bed, while he and Sara lowered a dummy onto the young CSI.

"How much does this thing way?" Greg asked cautiously.

"240 pounds at the moment," Grissom replied, "we'll increase the weight incrementally until you can't move," he walked away from the dummy until he was standing by the pully.

"Oh, I can't lift that. And if I can't, you can't," Greg told Sara, "this is a safety issue."

"Well, that's what the pully is for, Greg, so relax and lay down on your back," Sara replied.

Greg looked to the ceiling, following the rope with his eyes. He sighed, then moved to the bed, "you know this is exactly like a dream I had once," he said, climbing on and turning onto his back, "except it wasn't in a garage, and Grissom wasn't watching. That was a different dream."

Grissom slowly lifted the dummy and lowered it onto Greg. The spiky-haired man grunted as the dummy's weight landed on him.

"How's it feel, Dreamer?" Sara asked.

"Like 240 pounds of pure woman," he joked.

"How's your breathing?" Grissom asked.

"Ugh," he said as he shoved the dummy off his chest and sat up slightly, "limited."

"Okay, add another 40 pounds," the boss told the female CSI.

Sara nodded and pulled the dummy off Greg. She strapped another weight to the mechanism, "ready," she said and Grissom pulled the rope again. The dummy lifted and lowered onto the youngest while he grimaced about what he was being subjected to. Greg grunted again as the weight lay on his chest.

"Well, the position is consistent with the victim," Grissom noted, "face up right arm is pinned."

"If we could leave the dummy on long enough, we could actually match the blanching," Sara said.

Meanwhile, Greg grunted again as he felt his ribs ache in protest to the weight. He could feel the little air he had in his lungs leaving him. This was not good. He tried to speak up and get the other two's attention, but to no avail, he couldn't make a sound and they were too busy flirting to notice how he was suffering. He suddenly had a flashback to 4th Grade, when he got beat up and was left winded and with a fractured rib on the school playground. This was so much worse. His vision started to blur and spots danced in front of his eyes. He felt lightheaded and dizzy. His ears were ringing and he knew he was about to pass out. But before he could multiple sickening cracks echoed in his ears. He was first confused about what they were, but then white flashed through his vision and he felt pain rocket through his chest.

He screamed out, expelling whatever air he had left in his body. He felt a great weight lift off his chest and his pain faded. He gasped in air. A big mistake. He coughed it violently out again. His pain returned full force and he threw his head back and bit his lip to keep from crying out again. He couldn't breathe. It hurt too much. Greg started to hyperventilate as the only means of taking in oxygen. He opened his eyes (when had he closed them) and his vision was relatively normal. Sara and Grissom swum in his view.

"-eg!" Sara's voice called, but her mouth wasn't moving.

"Greg!" Grissom yelled.

Suddenly his senses slammed back into him. His vision was normal and he could hear people calling his name and shouting in the hallway outside.

"Greg, can you hear me?" Grissom asked.

He was in too much pain to answer. He nodded slowly.

"Good. I've called an ambulance. Where does it hurt?" the older man said.

Greg looked at him like he was thick, even though he was in pain, frowned and growled out, "my chest...you idiot."

"Right," Grissom nodded.

Greg closed his eyes, dropped his head back and focused on his breathing. Inoutinoutinoutinout. _'Slow it down, Sanders! Push through the pain!'_ he mentally screamed at himself. In,out,in,out,in,out,in,out. _'Slower!'_ In, out. In, out. In, out. In, out. _'Better,'_ he thought. He clenched his teeth through the pain and opened his eyes.

"How long until the ambulance gets here?" Griss asked Sara.

"ETA 5-10 minutes," she replied.

Greg knew he was going to have to check himself out if he didn't want to wait. He thought back to his first aid training and the medical courses he took to prepare for working at a crime lab. _Physical examination; Push on the patient's chest to find out where they are hurt. Watch their breathing and listen to their lungs to make sure air is moving in and out normally. Listen to their heart. Check their head, neck, spine, and belly to make sure there are no other injuries._ He unbuttoned the blue overall and slowly peeled it down his arms. He propped himself up on his elbows and breathed through a stab of pain again.

"Griss, I'm gonna...need your help," he gasped out.

"What is it? What do you need?" his boss asked.

"Scissors," he replied simply.

"Scissors?" Griss asked.

"Scissors," he nodded.

"Greg-" the elder was cut off by-

"Scissors, Grissom!" Greg snapped.

"Okay, just stay calm," Grissom turned to Sara and got her to pass him a pair of scissors.

Greg lay down, "okay, now cut my shirt open. A straight line from bottom to top."

Grissom looked at him funny, but did as he was told. Greg pulled either half of his shirt down to expose his chest. He looked down and sighed out a swear word. His torso was covered in the same blanches as the victim. On either side of his chest, near the end of his rib cage, were big red patches and black bruises. The red patch on the left was a deeper colour and indicated possible internal damage. He swallowed and prepared himself for the pain to come. Greg moved his hands to either side of his chest. He started to feel along each of his ribs, until he reached the last few. Underneath the miscoloured sections, he felt sharp, stabbing pain and heard a grinding sound. He hissed and he could tell that he had broken at least one rib on either side of his chest. ' _How do you treat a broken rib? Broken rib?... Ice, rest and pain meds.'_

"I need ice," Greg gritted out once he caught his breath again.

"Okay," Grissom said and sent Sara to get some ice.

By the time Sara was back with the ice pack, the ambulance was arriving. Greg placed the ice gingerly on the sore patches. The cold soothed the stabbing into an aching throb. Soon after, two paramedics ran into the room and over to Greg. They pushed a stretcher towards the man and rapidly asked what happened & what was wrong.

The injured man replied, "long story. As to what's wrong; both floating ribs are broken, at least one false rib broken, bruised intercostal muscles, possible splenic rupture and other internal damage and blanches from lack of oxygen for...I have no clue how long," he briefed them, "Gris, how long were those stupid dummy weights crushing me for?" he asked his boss.

"2-3 minutes," the man replied.

"Why were we called if you have all this covered?" the male medic asked.

"Well, if I move the wrong way, it could cause pneumothorax," Greg explained.

"Yes, it could," the female agreed, "I apologise for Even, he's new."

Greg gave her one of his flirty smiles. She grinned back. The pair of medics lifted the injured CSI onto the gurney and began to wheel him to the bus. On the way to the hospital, the female sat in the back with Greg while the male jumped in the front.

"I'm Greg Sanders, 30 years old, by the way," the blonde informed the medic.

"I'm Jane, and I have no intention of telling you how old I am," the brunette girl replied and laughed, "although I'm younger than you."

Greg chuckled too, then stopped and grimaced as he felt stabbing pain in his chest again.

"So, Greg, how did this," she pointed to his chest, "happen?"

"Well, I'm a CSI..." he proceeded to explain the circumstances of his injuries.

"Wow...your boss is strange...and don't even get me started on the safety issue," Jane replied.

"I know, it's ridiculous. And when he first hires someone, he takes a pint of their blood," Greg complained.

"Why?" she asked.

"I have no idea, all he says is-"

Suddenly there was a loud smashing sound. Greg saw the world spin and felt pain all over his body. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was a piece of sharp metal coming for him. It pierced his stomach at the same time he hit his head. He slipped into the world of darkness and fell through the void of oblivion.


	2. Blame

**Disclaimer:** Don't own, just writing for fun. Not making any money

 **Summary:** Greg is superstitious and is having another bad day. Just when he thinks it can't possible get worse…it does. Big Middle Au. Grissom & Sara leave the dummy weight on Greg for too long. And this new ambulance driver is pretty terrible.

 **Warning:** Med gore. Might be some bad language. Poor, poor Greggo.

 **A/N: so this is the last chap I think. I might update 1 more in the future (once** 'Connor's Secrets' **& ** 'Home Again' **are done). Thank you's:**

 **-** Meggysmeg **\- for** 'love love love' **ing this :) I got yet another idea, PM me if u want 2 know it ;)**

 **-** Guest #1 **– Thank you so much. Glad you are enjoying this. Hope you like this next instalment :)**

 **Enjoy our poor hurt Greg! P.S. this can be taken as pre-slash, slash or bromance between Nick & Greg**

 **Big Middle – Friday 13** **th**

 **Chapter 2 - Blame**

Nick was walking down the hall when he saw a spiky haired blonde being wheeled away on a gurney. He watching the man go then continued down the hall. It took him a moment to realise that the blonde was Greg. His Greg. The eccentric lab rat turned field mouse. Nick ran down the hall and turned into the room people were just dispersing from. He saw Grissom standing guiltily by a mattress with a heavy looking dummy on top. Another experiment. Nick ran in and grabbed his boss by the collar. He pushed Grissom up against the wall.

"What did you do to him Grissom?" he asked.

"Nicky, calm down," Grissom replied.

"Don't 'Nicky, calm down' me. You could've killed him with that damn contraption," he told the boss, "Greg's the youngest and newest to the team, and ya've already put his life in danger twice with your experiments."

"The mildew was hardly life threatening," Griss stated.

"He could have been allergic, did ya think of that?" Nick asked.

"You're right, okay? You're right, I didn't think of the consequences," the supervisor admitted.

Nick let go of the older man, "so what did you do to him this time?"

"I was testing the theory that a 240 or so pound woman could kill a man by falling asleep on top of him," Grissom replied.

* * *

"Wow...your boss is strange...and don't even get me started on the safety issue," Jane replied.

"I know, it's ridiculous. And when he first hires someone, he takes a pint of their blood," Greg complained.

"Why?" she asked.

"I have no idea, all he says is-"

Suddenly there was a loud smashing sound. The ambulance rolled over and landed on its side. Jane was strapped in so her damage was minimal. The patient, Greg, however couldn't be strapped in because it would have made his ribs worse. When the ambulance stilled Jane unbuckled herself and looked at the damage. Things had fallen from cupboards and shelves, the gurney was on its side and the patient was lying face up, next to her, with his eyes close. And a broken IV pole sticking out of the lower right of his abdomen.

The man's ragged breathing was a sign of life. Jane stood and opened the door. She left the bus and ran to find Even. A black car was upside down next to them. She looked inside, but no one was there. She found Even in front of the bus. The man had been thrown through the windscreen and was laying on the floor a little ways off. Jane walked over and searched for a pulse on the carotid artery, brachial artery, and radial artery. Each time she found none.

The medic ran back into the bus and picked up the radio from the wall (now the floor). She held it to her mouth and spoke,

"Control, this is 1-2-0-4, we have a Code 3, and a dead paramedic."

"Copy that; Code 3 and dead paramedic. Units will be with you shortly," a man's voice said.

Jane dropped the radio and knelt next to Greg. She checked for injuries and found a knot on the back of his head, most likely pierced lung and spleen, several broken ribs and of course a bit of an IV pole stuck out of (roughly) where his appendix was. The blood appeared to have clotted around the metal so removing it was a bad idea as it would restart the bleeding. There was nothing she could do for him right now. Soon, an ambulance arrived and drove both Greg and Jane to a nearby hospital.

* * *

The first thing to hit his senses was pain. White hot, stabbing, ripping, crushing pain. The next thing that assaulted him was sound. There was just so much and it was causing the pounding inside his head to become a sledgehammer. His throat was dry and sore so when he tried to speak it came out as a groan. He wanted to fall back into the black painless nothing that he dropped out of, but someone kept talking to him.

"Mr. Sanders?" he heard, "can you open your eyes for me?"

He groaned again and frowned, turning his head away from the voice.

"Mr. Sanders, I need you to open your eyes," the same female told him more forcefully.

He peeled his eyes open and immediately clamped them shut from the blinding white that overwhelmed him. He cautiously opened them again and blinked a few times to adjust to the light. He turned his head to look at the woman speaking to him.

"Good," she said and started to shine a torch in his eyes. He moaned because of the light, "no pupillary response, concussion. Mr. Sanders, can you tell me what day it is?"

"Um...Friday," he muttered and blinked again. His eyelids sluggishly opened and closed. He was so very tired.

"You need to stay awake for me, Mr. Sanders," the woman said.

Greg groaned, but opened his eyes reluctantly.

"That's it. Now, can you tell me your first name?" the Doctor asked.

"...Greg," he whispered.

"How are you feeling, Greg?" the woman asked.

"Like..." he felt terrible, "like..." suddenly his stomach rolled and, "I'm gonna be sick," with that he turned his head to the side and emptied his lunch to the floor.

His stomach clenched and he coughed, eyes scrunching and his entire body screaming out in pain. He flopped back onto the gurney, exhausted from the effort. His eyes slipped closed and he plummeted back into darkness.

"...Mr. Sanders..." was the last thing he heard.

* * *

The next time he found light, his pain was still there, but mainly in his chest, foot and abdomen. He lay there, listening to the sounds around him. He guessed that he was in a hospital. The last thing he could remember was talking to that nice paramedic lady. What was her name? Jen? Jenna? Jane? That was it! Jane! She was nice. But why couldn't he remember arriving at the hospital? Or anything more than getting into the bus?

He blinked his eyes open. The lights were off. Good. He didn't thing he could hardly any more light. Even the small stream of sunlight was hurting his eyes and head. He tried to sit up more, but cried out in pain as his torso burned. He lay there for a while to catch his breath. Soon, a female doctor entered his room. He looked up at her.

"It's good to see you awake, Mr. Sanders," she said, "how are you feeling?"

"Like I gargled with sand and slept in a tumble drier, while a dinosaur tore out my insides," he replied.

The doctor smirked, "what's the last thing you remember?"

"Um...being wheeled into the ambulance, then...nothing," Greg frowned at his missing memories.

"That's normal with a concussion, don't worry," she smiled kindly then took a breath, "the ambulance you were in was in a crash. You sustained a sharp force injury to your abdomen, piercing your appendix meaning we had to remove it, and you gained another two broken ribs this caused respiratory failure and we had to use a breathing tube until we were able to re-inflate your lung. We had to operate on your chest to patch up one of your lungs and correct your ribs, you also sustained a broken ankle when something fell on it we've casted that foot. Apart from that all have gained were cuts, bruises and a concussion."

"Lucky me," Greg muttered.

"To be honest, you are quite lucky. You weren't strapped down and with all the items- sharp and blunt- flying out of the cupboards, I'm surprised you're even alive," the doctor said grimly.

He shrugged. That was strange.

"Friday 13th seems to be lucky for you," she said, "your brain seems to be fine, so I'll get you some pain killers now."

"Thank you," he said.

The doctor then left the room.

* * *

The team got a call out to a crash on the way to the hospital to visit Greg. The crash involved an ambulance and a car speeding away from the police. The scene was a mess. There was no driver in the fugitive car, but a small blood trail leading away showed that the man was injured. The interior of the ambulance was covered in blood and multiple medical supplies littered the floor (wall). The patient survived and was being treated at the hospital, and the paramedic in the back with him got away with a minor concussion and a few bruises. The driver died, having not worn his seatbelt. He flew straight through the windscreen, smashing his head on the ground.

They were just moving on to process the DB. When David rolled the body, Grissom and Sara gasped at what they saw.

"I don't believe it," Sara whispered.

"It's the paramedic that took Greg," Grissom said.

"Even," Sara agreed.

"What?" Nick asked, "you don't mean to say...?" he couldn't bring himself to finish.

"Greg was in the crash," Catharine finished.

The team shared a look. Greg has been hurt terribly twice in one day.

"Okay," Grissom sighed, "Nicky, Cath go to the hospital check on Greg and the other paramedic. Sara and I will cover the rest of the scene."

Nick nodded and left for the hospital with Catharine. The sight that greeted them made their hearts break.

"Oh, Greg..." Nick sighed when he saw the state the new CSI was in.

The bedsheet covered the blonde up to his ribs, his left foot stuck out of the cover, was in a cast and rested on a pillow. His chest was pale apart from a few red patches, dark bruises and a fresh scar that lay on other side of his chest reaching from beside his peck to the end of the sheet. Greg had a bandage wrapped around his head, a few small plasters littered his body, a bandage was wrapped around his right bicep, and a bandage peeked out from under the sheet, going down. His normally tanned skin was closer to the colour of the bedsheets than anything else. A needle went into his left elbow, giving him blood, while one went in his right hand, giving him painkillers and fluids.

Nick sighed sadly and went to sit beside the unconscious man. Catharine walked towards the pair, she felt like she should give the two a moment. She laid a hand on Nick's shoulder and told him,

"I'm just gonna grab a coffee. You want anything?"

"No, thanks," he muttered.

Catharine turned and walked out of the room. Nick watched the woman walk away before looking back at Greg. He leaned forward and grabbed the man's hand.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you, Greggo," he began to talk to his injured friend, "I promise that I'll be there to stop anyone from hurting you in the future. Even Grissom. You're an amazing CSI, and one of my best friends, and I will look out for you more. It's my fault that you're laying here. I knew what Griss was going to do, I knew he was going to do another experiment on you like you are just some rat for testing. I should have been there for you, I am so so sorry. It's my fault-"

"No. No, it's not your fault, Nick," Greg said as he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at the Texan, "I don't blame you or Grissom, it was just an accident."

"How long have you been awake?" Nick asked.

"Since 'stop anyone from hurting you'," the Californian smirked, "it's amazing how much easier it is to get compliments when you almost die."

Nick chuckled, "oh and you just thought you'd wait until I finished giving you compliments to 'wake up', huh?"

"Well," Greg shrugged, "when else am I gonna get them?"

The two laughed, before Greg grimaced in pain.

"You okay?" Nick asked, sympathy written all over his face.

"Yeah, painkillers are just wearing off," Greg explained.

"How badly are you injured?" the elder asked.

"Mild concussion, four broken ribs, broken ankle, a few cuts and bruises, and no appendix," the blonde explained, "could've been worse."

The two men chatted for a bit until Grissom and the others arrived. Catharine was bearing coffee drinks for all but Greg. Warrick was carrying balloons which read 'get well soon', Sara was carrying flowers and a card, and finally Grissom held a box of chocolates and another card.

"Hey guys," Nick greeted the team.

"Hey," Greg smiled at them. The team responded with their own 'hi's.

"I see you brought me some stuff," he noted with a smirk.

"What these? No, these are for Nick," Sara replied.

Greg chuckled, "oh okay."

"Aw, thank you guys," the Texan said with a smile.

The team laughed, "no we're just kidding," Catharine said, placing the coffee on the bedside table.

The team handed the presents to Greg, who received them with a smile. The presents ended up on the bedside table, while the team drank the caffeine drinks. Grissom then approached the injured man.

"Greg, I want to apologise for all this," he said, pointing to the injuries, "this is my fault and I'm really sorry for that. I shouldn't have asked you to take part in the experiment, I should have come up with another way-"

"No, Grissom. This isn't your fault. It's not Nick's, or yours, or Catharine's, or Sara's, or Warrick's. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine," Greg interrupted.

"What?" The team asked.

"How is this your fault, sweetie?" Catharine asked.

"I knew today was going to be a bad day, I knew that something terrible was going to happen today, but I didn't want to believe it. I should have stayed home and just taken the day off, but I wanted to come in," the Californian told them.

"What are you talking about, man?" Warrick asked.

"It's Friday 13th October today, it runs in my family. Every Friday 13th, especially one in October, ends in tragedy for my family. My great great grandfather Olaf Hojem VI was injured during the uprising against Swedish rule, my great grandad died, my Papa Olaf was shot in a bank robbery, his sister Aala was crippled, my cousin Jørka was in a hunting accident, my mother was in a car crash, and when I was 2 years old I broke my arm," the injured explained, "something was bound to happen today, I should've just stayed home," he shook his head.

Once he started ranting, he couldn't stop, and as he got more passionate, he switched to Norwegian, "Jeg kunne ha dødd. Jeg skal bare ha bodd hjemme. Ingenting av dette ville ha skjedd hvis jeg hadde bare kalt inn syk. Jeg føler meg så dum, det er min feil. herregud, jeg kunne ha drept de ambulanse. De ambulanse! Er de skadet?"

The team stared at him. Only then did Greg realise he had switched to Norwegian.

"Sorry. Are they okay?" he asked.

"Are who okay?" Grissom asked.

"The paramedics?" Nick asked.

"Yeah," Greg nodded.

"How'd you know?" Sara asked the Texan.

"Well, he said 'ambulanse' and that sounds a little like ambulance, so I kinda just assumed," Nick replied.

"Well?" Greg asked, "are they alright?"

"Jane is fine, just a minor concussion," Sara said, "but the man, Even, died. He didn't have a seatbelt on and flew straight through the windshield."

"Oh, God, that was my fault," Greg muttered.

"No, Greg, none of this is your fault," Catharine told him firmly.

The nurse soon came in and refilled the injured man's pain meds. The morphine knocked Greg out within minutes. Grissom, Warrick and Sara left to work on the crash case. Nick and Catharine stayed with the youngest, talking softly to each other.

 **The End  
**

 **Translations:** Jeg kunne ha dødd. Jeg skal bare ha bodd hjemme. Ingenting av dette ville ha skjedd hvis jeg hadde bare kalt inn syk. Jeg føler meg så dum, det er min feil. Herregud, jeg kunne ha drept de ambulanse. De ambulanse! Er de skadet? = I could have died. I should have stayed home. None of this would have happened if I had just called in sick. I feel so stupid, this is all my fault. Oh my God, I could have killed the paramedics. The paramedics! Are they alright?

 **A/N: So this is the final chap for now, may add another chap about what happens with the criminal that escaped the crash, but for now, this is the end.**


End file.
